


Pistols at Dawn

by VeryImportantDemon



Series: The Kids Aren't Alright [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (for now hahaha), Alternate Universe - Mutants, Azazel is a dick, Castiel is someone, Dean is essentially Wolverine, Drug Abuse, Everyone is a mutant, Gen, He's basically the CSM, Kevin Tran is Spiderman, Mutants, POV Bobby Singer, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, POV Kevin Tran, POV Mary Winchester, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, SPN RBB, Sam is the Hulk, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2015, mutants everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImportantDemon/pseuds/VeryImportantDemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some are born great. Some achieve greatness. Others have greatness thrust upon them, like pistols at dawn.<br/>Everything feels new, because they are not who they were, who they used to be. They are all someone new. It was these events that shaped them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pistols at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to start this with a massive, massive thank you to my wonderful artist. This was my first RBB and she was the biggest help. She was seriously fantastic, and you should definitely give her art some love. 
> 
> This is, essentially, a superhero AU. Everyone is a superhero, most of them based off of some Marvel/DC character, but no prior knowledge of either of those fandoms is needed. 
> 
> Warnings: There is some attempted kidnapping and towards the end, drug use by a minor. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

**_1\. Dean Winchester_ **

**_September, 1982_ **

                    Dean first felt the claws in his knuckles when he was about 3.

                    He wouldn't be able to tell you exactly how old he was or what the date was. He didn't even remember that much about it, because he was so young, but he remembered enough.

                    The ivory claws. The cool fall sun on his back. A name: Sammy. Lions.

                    His parents had taken him to the zoo. For a 3-almost-4-year-old, the zoo was amazing. One of his first memories was walking along the stone paths, the late summer, early fall weather just perfect for a day out. He remembered his mommy's blue eyes and her golden wavy hair. He remembered his daddy's sparkling smile. He remembered feeling happy.

                    The family wandered around the park together, and while they paused for a moment, Daddy heading up to get Dean and Mommy a snack from the long line, Mommy sat Dean down. She crouched so their faces were level, and she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "So, Dean," she said, smiling. "How'd you feel about our family getting a little bigger?" Dean frowned, his brow furrowed in concentration.

                   "Like a puppy?" he finally said. "My friend Jimmy got a puppy." Mommy laughed, pushing Dean's hair back. "No, sweetie," she said. "Like a new baby. A little brother. Would you like that?" Dean paused, thinking. Were Mommy and Daddy getting a new baby? Where would the baby come from, he wondered. He wasn't sure he believed Jimmy's story about the storks.

                   "I think so," he said, kicking his feet, because his feet couldn't reach the ground from the high bench. "A little brother would be cool," he conceded. "Probably better than a puppy." Mommy laughed and kissed him on the head again, straightening up. "Good," she said. "I think you'll be the greatest big brother ever." Dean nodded, agreeing. "The bestest," he said solemnly. "I'll never let anyone hurt him, ever. That's what big brothers are 'posed to do, yeah?"

                   Mommy scanned the crowded concessions area, spotting Daddy who was working his way over from the line with their food. "What would you like to call him?" Mommy said, beginning to clean her little boy's hands with a wipe she pulled from her purse. Dean didn't even have to think for longer than a moment. "Sammy," he said. Mommy smiled again. He loved her smile. It was the best thing in the world. "You didn't have to think very long," she observed. "How'd you decide that?"

                  Dean shrugged. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I just like the name Sammy. It's a good name for him. I know," he said. "I'm gonna be the bestest big brother ever and Sammy's gonna be the bestest little brother ever and it's gonna be _awesome_." 

                  Mary chuckled again. Oh, she did love her family. She threw away the wipe in a nearby trash can  as John came to sit down with them, holding a plastic container of nachos. "What do you think about Sammy for a name?" she asked.

                   Dean smiled.

                   After their brief snack, the family was up and at it again, pursuing the animals eagerly at the insistence of little Dean. He really wanted to see the big snakes in the reptile building, and the monkeys, which he loved. But the real star in his eyes were the big cats. The lions most specifically.

                   He stood, mesmerized at the edge of the lions' den, watching. "Whoa," he said softly. "Mommy... Mommy, look!" he said, finally tearing himself away. "Daddy, lookit!" One of the big majestic beasts was stretching, its' teeth and claws in view, its' pelt rippling and almost glowing in the sun. "Lookit, the claws and the hair and the teeth!" Mary Winchester chuckled, squeezing his little chubby hand.

                  "Do you know what the claws are for, Dean?" she asked him. Dean shook his head, but his eyes were wide. He wanted to know everything about these animals. Everything. "They're for protecting themselves and helping them get food." Dean nodded, still mesmerized, but I thought occurred to him.

                  "Protecting..." he said slowly. "Like... Like I'm gonna do for Sammy!" He tugged his hand from his mother's grip light and curved his small hands into fists. "Lookit, mommy, I can be like the lions!"

                  Mary's breathing stopped for a moment. Was he talking about what she thought he was? Was he... Even if he was, it wasn't supposed to develop until later. He wasn't supposed to have it until he was old enough to be able to learn. "What can you do like the lions, sweetie?" she asked calmly.

                  "The claws!" Dean said excitedly. "Mommy, I can be the lions!" He pulled a face, like he was concentrating  very hard, his eyes squeezed shut and his fists held tight. He opened one eye and peered at his hands and with a slight noise that was barely even a whimper, claws - /claws/ made of /bone/ - sliced through the skin right between his knuckles, but there wasn't even any blood. "I can protect Sammy with them! Like the lions do!" he said, proud of his skill.

                  This were beautiful, actually, the bone almost gleaming ivory but tarnished enough that they looked rough. Real. Mary fell in love with them very quickly, as quickly as she had fallen in love with her son. Her beautiful son, perfect and kind and wonderful and so brave, already, even at four.

                   She crouched down in front of him again. “Dean, sweetie,” she said, the back of his hands resting in her palms, the edges of the bone brushing the inside of her arm. “They’re… You’re magnificent.”

                   Dean beamed, his cheeks tinged pink. His mommy said he was great! So he had to be. His mommy was perfect and she never lied to him. Never.

                   “Why don’t you put you claws away for now, sweetie?" she asked softly, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead, also shielding him from outside eyes. "You can show me more when we get home." She glanced down at him, about to speak again, to ask if it hurt him, when her little boy retracted his claws.

                    Without a sound, they disappeared, buried back under muscles and flesh. And then his skin... His skin knitted back together as if there was never a bone pulling through the tender skin in the first place. Oh... He must be able to heal, she thought. It was brilliant. Her baby boy, a mutant too... But there was hatred and fear of their kind. She'd help him through it. She'd protect him.

                   She ran her fingers gently over the skin that had healed and rose to her feet, her baby still beaming at him, completely unaware that anything out of the ordinary had happened. In his eyes, nothing had. "I can show you more when we get home, mommy," he said eagerly. "And Sammy, when he's born!"

                   Mary chuckled and took his hand again, gently squeezing it. "I want to see more. And I'm sure Sammy would too. But we've got a few more animals to look at, my little lion man," she said. Dean shook his head stoutly. "No," he said pointedly. "No?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow. "No," Dean repeated. "What you called me. Not for me." She furrowed her brow, listening to her son. "Not for you?"

                   Dean nodded. "Don't gotta call me that. Call Sammy that. Sammy's gonna be good and great and brave and fantastic and /awesome/. He's gonna be just like a lion, so you can't call me that. You gotta save it for Sammy." Mary smiled. Already selfless... Dean was going to do great things.

                  "Alright, Dean," she said. "Why don't you go tell your daddy what you learned about the lions?" Dean released her hand and toddled towards his dad, who was conversing with a friend he'd met who looked a lot like Caleb, from the auto shop John worked, giggling. He pulled on John's hand, who bent down and scooped up the toddler balancing him on his hip.

                  She could see the number in her mind's eye, and the face and the name attached to it. Bobby Singer.

                  He'd always told her to call whenever she needed him, and she thought she might be needing him now.

                  It could wait. After Dean told his daddy about the lions.

**_2\. Sammy Winchester_ **

**_November 2 nd, 1983_ **

                 "Hush little Sammy, don't say a word," the 4 year old sang, curled up in the crib next to his brother. Sammy was 6 months old, already with a fuzzy mop of dark brown hair, showing the hints of waves. His eyes were a matching shade of brown, and they positively sparkled. Everyone said Sammy was too young, and he didn't understand Dean, but the big brother could look into the younger one's eyes, and the baby  _knew_.

                “De’s gonna buy you a… A…” Dean faltered, furrowing his brow. He stopped singing, talking out loud to the baby instead. “De’s gonna buy you a…” He shook his head. “I don’t remember the words,” he told Sammy. Sammy gurgled, as if to say, _it’s alright._

                Dean smiled. “I’m gonna sing you a different song,” he began. “It’s the one that Mommy sings to me all the time. It’s by some band… Some band called the Beatles, I think. Like the bugs.” He drew in a deep breath and started to sing again.

               “Hey Jude,” Dean sang. “Don’t make it baaaaad. Take a sad song, and make it better! Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better.” Dean paused to take a breath, and he was delighted when Sammy smiled at him. Sammy liked the song! Sammy liked his singing! “It’s alright if you don’t like it,” he told his baby brother knowledgably, shifting his weight in order to lean against the sides of the crib, Sammy in his lap. “Mommy’s is better…”

               He drew in another breath and started to sing again. “Hey Jude… Don’t be afraid. You were made to g-” He stopped, his singing tapering off as someone else began to interrupt. A loud, masculine voice began speaking in the room. “Mary,” he said, with an air of patience that Dean was pretty sure was fake. “We have to start them on the medication! Both of them.”

               Dean fell silent, frowning. His mommy and daddy were talking about him and Sammy! What kind of medicine did they need? They weren’t sick. Least he didn’t think so… “Sammy?” he asked, his voice hushed. The baby looked up at him, eyes wide. “Are you sick?” The baby looked a bit confused at the question. Dean thought very highly of his baby brother, but he was still a baby. “That’s right,” he said. “You pro’lly don’t know what that means…” He tapered off again when he heard his mommy start to speak. “John,” she protested. “He’s… He’s only 4 years old! Barely almost 5! You don’t know what those medications can do if you take them too long.” They seemed angry. Dean didn’t like it when Mommy and Daddy were angry.

                “It’s not safe!” Daddy said, his voice raising, louder. Dean flinched slightly. “It’s not safe, Mary,” he repeated. “You know it isn’t safe for mut- _their kind_ – around here.” The 4-year-old frowned harder. What had his dad been about to say? Mutants? Was that what he was?

                He studied his hands, the skin on his knuckles nearly perfect, unscarred. He didn’t even have to focus much and his ivory claws slid out. Their kind… What did Daddy mean by their kind? He was pulled out of his musings when Sammy giggled. He reached up with his small hands and grabbed one of Dean’s claws, his fingers hooked around it. “Oh, you like them?” Dean said softly, laughing. He couldn’t help it. Whenever Sammy laughed, he laughed, too. It was just… Oh, Mommy had taught him that word a few days ago. It was… It was… Contagious! That was it. Sammy’s laughter was contagious.  

                 Sammy reached up and grabbed at the claws with his other hand, swatting at them and playing like a little cat. Dean laughed again, happy to entertain his little brother. He almost missed the rest of the conversation between his mommy and daddy. “I won’t do it,” Mommy said, and her voice was deadly serious. “John, I will not give our sons medication to suppress their abilities. Those abilities are part of them! They help make _our sons_ who they are!” Dean had gone quiet, and even Sammy had, too. They both recognized the direness of the situation, it seemed. “And we don’t even know if Sam is one!”

                 Dean turned his eyes from the door back to his baby brother. “Are you a mutant?” he said softly, looking into his big, brown doe eyes. The baby made a gurgling sound that if Dean was correct – which he usually was when it concerned his brother – sounded sad. He frowned as he heard his daddy’s voice again, louder this time.

                “He is. I don’t know what he can do you, but he is. Have you seen the look in his eyes? He can understand. He knows, Mary. He’s way too smart for a baby his age. Too smart. And he’s developing faster. He’s _strong_ , Mary, more so than a normal toddler. And with you as a mom and Dean as a brother? No way he isn’t.”

                Dean knew that much. Sammy had been able to sit up and roll over and crawl and even hold his own bottle up very fast. He hadn’t walked yet, but Mommy said that would take time. What he didn’t get was the last thing Daddy had said. With you as a mother? What did that mean? Was Mommy a mutant too? Suddenly, a familiar feeling washed over him. Calmness, gentleness. Like everything would be okay. Whenever he was scared, he went to his mommy, and she made him feel calm. She helped him go to sleep when he couldn’t sleep. She helped him to feel differently sometimes, but only when he was worried or scared or hurting. Maybe that was her power? Making his head and his heart feel good?

               “No,” Mommy said again, and she seemed very insis… Insis… Oh, he’d just learned this one too! Insistent, that was it! She seemed very insistent, very final. “That’s it, John. We’re not starting them on the medicine. Dean’s a few years from kindergarten, and he already has a pretty good hold on his abilities. When he gets closer to school age, I’ll help him with them more. And when he’s older, Bobby will help him.”

               Daddy cleared his throat a little uncomfortably at the name. Bobby? Dean frowned. Who was Bobby? His mommy almost answered his question for him. “He’s really good at what he does, John, and he’s a telepath, like me. You know, you met him when we visited him with Dean when he was really young. He’s probably the nicest man you’ve ever met. He’ll help them so much, John. He’s one of the most powerful mutants out there.”

              Daddy hesitated again. “I still don’t trust him, Mary,” he said. He sounded like he was… Dean frowned hard again. It was another new word he had learned, but he couldn’t come up with it. Like a frown, but a little different. Oh, he’d come up with it later, when he didn’t need it anymore. That’s when he thought of all of his words.

             “I trust him,” her mom said forcefully. “I trusted him with my life, and I trust him with Sam and Dean’s lives.” She sighed, and Dean was pretty sure he could see the shadows creeping in the hallway right outside of Sammy’s open door shifting. But… His mommy and daddy were down the hall. In the living room. How could their shadows reach all the way down here. “Sammy,” he said cautiously, gathering the baby into his arms and inching to the back of the crib. He realized that this probably wasn’t going to work and gently released his baby brother. He clambered over the walls of the crib, alighting gently on the ground. He glanced behind him, chewing on his lip nervously.

             Dean stood on his tiptoes, starting to reach over the walls of the crib to grab his brother. He froze, lowering himself to the ground and turning back to the door, his heart pounding. Something was wrong. Something _felt_ wrong.

             That was when everything went wrong for Dean.

             Still standing protectively next to the crib, he squinted into the darkness. Someone was there, but he couldn’t tell who. He just knew that it wasn’t his mommy or- He couldn’t even finish the thought before a man materialized in front of him and grabbed him roughly around the shoulders. The man was tall, taller than his daddy, but he really wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about the fact that Sammy was in the crib behind him and this man had a really tough grip that burned his arms. And he smelt like smoke. Like the smoke from the little paper tubes Dean sometimes saw people put in their mouths. The man tossed the 4-year-old aside, and the little boy howled as he hit the wall. He didn’t stay down long and he didn’t even notice that a piece of his messy blonde hair was matted with blood from a knock on the top of his head.

             His claws came out without him being fully aware of it. He just knew that he was angry, so angry. He was so angry because this man was going to hurt Sammy. He hurtled forward, catching a glimpse of the man bowed over the crib. His squalling baby brother was in his arm, waving his little fists. “Hush,” the man coaxed. “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word… Deanie’s gonna buy you a mockingbird, right?” The wicked grin on his face was unmistakable even from here, bathed in shadows.

            Dean waved his claws around, howling, as he charged, except he had a feeling it abounded more like mewling to the man. The man chuckled deeply, and it wasn’t a good laugh. It wasn’t like Mommy’s laugh. It was mean. And he had Sammy. Dean was boiling with anger, now. That was his Sammy. His baby brother.

            He was about to make an attack, slash at the man, stab at his ankles with his bone claws, call out for his mom or dad, his head screaming at him to do something, to do anything, to just _protectSammyprotectSammyprotectSammy_ , when the awful man mounted an attack of his own. He flicked his wrist, and a ring of fire encircled the 4-year-old. He balked, scrambling to pull away from it. “You’re not much a challenge now,” the man said, addressing the little boy. “Oh, but you will be… I truly believe that.”

            Dean swallowed, steeling himself. “No!” he said. “I… I won’t help! I’ll never ever ever _never_ help you!” The man laughed again, a horrible sound, still holding the squalling Sammy. “Oh, dear. Mr. Winchester, I don’t you. You won’t help. I’m fairly sure of that. That’s written up somewhere neither of us can change…” He turned his attention towards the baby. “Hush, little Sammy,” he said, running one finger down his cheek. The baby did not like that at all. “This little one, on the other hand?” he was speaking to Dean again, still looking at Sam. “His fate… It’s much more complicated, Mr. Winchester. There are so, so many different paths this little one could take.  He just needs to be raised right.” He cooed softly, and the baby howled louder. Dean started thinking seriously about calling out to his mom again, but the man had started talking again.

            “He could save you…” The man smiled. “He could save the human race. Or…” He tapered off. “He could save the mutants. There’s so much power in this little boy… So much _potential._ There is so much written about this little boy, young Dean, in the stars. Since the beginning of time. How does it feel to have been living with this much untapped power for _months?_ ” the man said, turning to smile wickedly at Dean.

            Suddenly, Dean’s senses came back to him. He really didn’t like the way this man was talking about his Sammy and that smile unnerved him. “Don’t _touch_ him!” he screamed. “Don’t touch my Sammy! I’ll call my mommy on you!”

            Was the little boy wrong, or did he detect a flicker of something on the odd, tall man’s face when he’d mentioned his mommy? “Mary Campbell,” he sneered. “The telepath. The _human._ ” He scoffed audibly, and that’s when Dean took the opportunity to howl at the top of his lungs.

            “ _MOMMY!”_

            The tall man turned, and he was ready to depart, it seemed, but Dean wasn’t ready for that. He would _not_ let that man take his Sammy. So, he lurched forward, barreling through the flames. They felt like nothing more than a tickle against his skin, a bit more than a pleasant warmth. The man twisted and turned, just out of Dean’s grasp, and he seemed… surprised for a moment. Surprised like he wasn’t sure why he was still there. He stilled and whispered, “ _Mary.”_

            Mary was his mommy’s name! His mommy was coming! He turned on his heels and just as he did so, a figure in a nightgown, wreathed in flame and casting a shadow behind her, dark and ominous, appeared. “ _Azazel!”_ she shouted, and she threw her hand up. “Give me my son,” she said, her voice deadly calm but her face a mask of fury, “and get the _hell_ out of my house.”

            Azazel – that was his name, but how did Mommy know him? – laughed again. He spoke directly to Mary this time, and it sent chills up Dean’s spine. “Oh, Mary, Mary, _Mary._ You thought you could leave our world… Mate with a human… You thought you could hide little Sammy Campbell from us.”

            Dean interrupted, snapping at the man. “That’s not his name! His name’s Winchester! And no one gets to call him Sammy except me!” Azazel chuckled at Dean, brandishing his claws. Mommy spoke next. “Dean, get back here,” she said, and her voice was firm. “But Mom-“ She cut him off. She never cut him off before… “Dean, get behind me, _now._ ” He was about to protest again, but the look on her face and the gentle touch of warmth in his mind convinced him to head behind her, holding tight to her leg.

            Azazel’s laugh… It was really starting to get to Dean. Like scratching a fork on a plate. He hated the sound of Azazel’s laugh. He _hated_ it. And he wanted Sammy back. He wanted his brother back _now._ He swallowed past the lump in his throat and let his mom talk. She would fix it. She would save Sammy.

            “Your family… Pathetic.” Mommy snarled at Azazel loudly. “Give me back my son, Azazel, and I may let you walk out of here alive.” Azazel bent a finger, gently caressing the baby’s face. Sammy howled loudly, waving his fist. He didn’t like the contact, Dean knew. And he looked sick. He was turning green…

            “Put him down!” Dean yelled again, his voice high-pitched and not at all intimidating. “He’s sick, you’re making him sick!”

            Azazel smiled at Dean and raised his other hand. “That’s his mutation… Darling. He’s strong. He’s going to be so strong…  He’s a weapon, a good one, if a young one… He’s a pistol, young Dean. A pistol at dawn.”

            Mommy advanced, pushing Dean back behind her. “Dean,” she told him, not breaking her eye contact with Azazel, “when I get Sammy back from him, take him, and run. You have to run. Take your brother and go outside. Run, and don’t look back.”

            Dean nodded quickly, his eyes fixed on his baby brother. “Mary-“ It was Daddy’s turn to talk. Mommy pulled her arm out of his grip. “John, let me do this. I have to do this.”

            She didn’t look back at either of them.

            Mommy strode across the room, her right hand still straight out. “This is your last chance, Azazel,” she said. “Give me the boy. You know what I can do.” Azazel turned slightly, the infant held tightly away from his mother, still howling and crying. “Go for it,” he said with a wry smile. “Take your pistol back.” He flicked his hand and the flames that had enveloped Dean in a circle shot forward and encircled Mommy and the awful man. They rose higher and higher and Dean almost couldn’t see either of them anymore, and the smoke was so thick he was coughing and his claws were out-

            The flames flickered just low enough for just long enough that Dean could see the struggle; Mommy had her hands against Azazel’s temples and Azazel was still holding Sammy but Sammy was fighting back and his mommy-

            Mommy and the bad man were screaming.

            The flames licked higher and higher again and they were enveloping the room and it was burning. Everything was burning.

            Daddy rushed forward and pushed Dean back with his free hand. “Stay back!” he shouted, and he dove into the flames.

            Suddenly, the screaming stopped and everything was quiet. Eerily quiet. Even the crackling flames had ceased to make a noise.

            And then everything happened in slow motion.

            The sound returned and Daddy burst through the flames and he was cradling Sammy. His blanket was all mussed up but Dean couldn’t bring himself to care about that. He could only bring himself to care about the fact that his baby brother was still breathing and still a little green. But it didn’t seem like a sick green. Even his hands were green.

            Daddy shoved the baby into Dean’s arms. “Go!” he shouted. “Take your brother and go outside, fast as you can! Protect Sammy!” Dean squeezed Sammy tightly and took off out of the room, his bare feet brushing against the carpet before taking off down the wooden hallway.

            He didn’t look back at the burning nursery. He didn’t look back for his daddy. He didn’t look back for his mommy. He looked forward, looked forward for Sammy.

            He had to keep him safe. He had to keep him safe.

            Protect Sammy _._

Mutation and all.

            _Protect Sammy._

**_3\. Castiel Novak_ **

**_April, 1988_ **

             “You know what I like, Cassie?”

             Castiel peeled his eyes open. It was still dark, the darkness and shadows creeping into their quiet forest hideaway. Gabriel had constructed the two of them a makeshift little lean-to. The little boy yawned, sitting up. His black hair was messy, going in all direction, and his bright blue eyes were muddy with sleep. “What do you like, Gabe?”

             He ducked, brushing his head on the roof of the lean-to. It was constructed with sticks and things they’d found in the forest, a roof made of a blanket, and the entire things help together with a lot of duct tape. So much duct tape… So. Much. Duct tape. Castiel’s brother, Gabriel, had an affinity for the shiny gray tape. He was never to be found without a roll of it.

            Castiel blinked slowly, and his big brother came into focus. Gabriel was about 14, they thought. He was pretty short, with a mop of dark blonde-brown curls. His eyes had a perpetual mischievous glint in them that Castiel had gotten used to. He looked like a normal 14-year-old boy. The main difference between Gabriel and a normal 14-year-old was the fact that he was a mutant. This was most notable due to the fact that an enormous pair of wings sprouted between his shoulder blades.

            They were magnificent in themselves, a marvel. They were built powerful, like the wings of a hawk. The feathers that adorned them were shades of brown, starting lighter and darkening as they moved farther towards the tips of his wings. A few dark gold colored feathers were sprinkled throughout. Castiel loved them. His own? He wasn’t full grown yet. Gabriel told him that they weren’t done growing and would grow with him until they or he was done.

            They were white.

            “Duct tape,” his older brother replied. Castiel sighed deeply, his little shoulders rising and falling with him as he did so, clearly exasperated. Gabriel rolled his eyes, plopping down in front of Castiel and crossing his legs. “I also love making shit out of duct tape, ‘cause you know I gotta keep my fingers moving or I’ll go crazy.”

            The younger mutant tilted his head, frowning up at his brother. “Is there a point to this, Gabriel?” he asked. Gabriel laughed, leaning back a bit before leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and a circle of duct tape spinning around on his finger. “It matters, baby bro, because I made you this.” Gabriel dropped the circle of duct tape onto the forest floor in front of his brother.

            Castiel reached forward slowly, picking up the craft. It was a bracelet, a bracelet that perfectly encircled his right wrist when he wiggled his hand into it. It was a very well made piece of work, and Castiel could tell that Gabriel had really put a lot of time in on it… And he hadn’t even noticed him doing it! He must have been working on it whenever his younger brother was asleep.

            “Do you like it?” Gabriel asked. The white-feather mutant looked up, the fingers of his left hand brushing against the shiny gray tape. “Yeah,” he said, but his voice didn’t quite go through. The gift was so simple, but the fact that his big brother, the only person he had in the world, had spent his time and his tape to make it for him… “Yeah,” he repeated, and his voice was stronger this time. “Yes. I love it.”

            The older mutant grinned again. “Great,” he said. “I’m glad. ‘Cause that took me forever to make…” He dug his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. The jacket was too big and the pockets hung below his hips. Gabriel wasn’t the tallest boy, and ill-fitting clothes didn’t help his appearance. Sporadic and not very nutritious food didn’t help his growth, either.

            When he pulled his hands out, Gabriel opened them, and dropped the contents onto the grass floor beside his brother. Colorful wrappers littered it.

            Candy.

            Castiel gasped, leaning forward and examining the pieces of candy before him. He picked one up, the bright blue sticking out against the greens and browns of the forest floor, the dark brown leather of Gabriel’s leather jacket, and the tan of Castiel’s trenchcoat. “Gabriel!” he said. “How did you get these?” Gabriel rather obviously feigned ignorance, shrugging. “Just found ‘em in my pockets…”

            Castiel lowered the piece of candy and sighed. “Gabriel!” he called again, chastising this time. “You stole them, didn’t you?” Gabriel sighed. “Hey, baby bro, maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Nothing you can prove, certainly…” He paused. “Okay, I’m not going to lie to you. I definitely did steal them.” He continued talking, cutting off Castiel’s disgruntled and disapproving expression. “But I had to, eh? It’s Birth Month.”

            Neither of them had parents. Ever since they were old enough to survive on their own, they had been. Since they never remembered parents, really, they didn’t know their birthdays. So, the two allotted the month of April to be their birthday month. This Birth Month, Gabriel was turning 14, and Castiel was turning 8.

            “I told you,” Castiel said, sounding more like a disappointed parent than an 8-year-old kid who’d just been given a great birthday present. “I don’t need presents. And you certainly don’t need to steal to get them.”

            Gabriel huffed again, stretching his limbs but scooting back under the tent-like shelter. “I’m the greatest big brother,” he said. “I got you presents for Birth Month. Two. Taffy _and_ an awesome bracelet that I made with love.”

            There was silence in the shelter for a few more moments. In sync, both Gabriel and Castiel reached forward and grabbed a piece of taffy and unwrapped it. They popped it into their mouths and crewed in quiet for a few more moments. It wasn’t an awkward silence but a companionable one that was broken when Castiel spoke.

            “I did get you a present.”

            Gabriel tilted his head, frowning. “Really?” he asked. Then he laughed. “C’mon, Cassie. Spill. What’d you get me?” Castiel smiled sheepishly. “It’s stupid,” he said. Gabriel shook his head. “Ah, no, kiddo,” Gabriel said. “It’s probably awesome. Give it.”

            Castiel sighed deeply and closed his eyes, hanging his head for a moment. Gabriel frowned barely, watching his little brother. What was the gift? Was he okay? What did-

            His stream of consciousness was broken when the black-haired 8-year-old hurtled towards him. He wrapped his arms tightly around the neck of the slightly taller mutant, his head buried in Gabriel’s leather-clad shoulder. After a moment, Gabriel instinctively wrapped his arms around his baby brother in return, holding him close. He was about to say something when Castiel spoke, his voice muffled by the jacket.

            _“I believe in you.”_

            Gabriel’s heart warmed, along with his cheeks. They hurt from grinning, tinged pink.

            They sat like that, together, wrapped in the familiar arms for what felt like hours but was probably less than a minute. Finally, Castiel released Gabriel and scooted backwards. Taking his younger brother’s lead, Gabriel released him, still smile.

            “Do you like it?” Castiel said shyly. Gabriel nodded eagerly. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, baby bro. I love it.”

            Castiel finally met Gabriel’s eyes, and he was beaming. Huddled together in oversized clothing in a makeshift shelter in a forest, most would have been miserable. But they were happy.

            The happiness didn’t last. Suddenly, Gabriel sat bolt upright. He was on his feet in seconds with his hand wrapped around Castiel’s thinner wrist. He jerked his brother to his feet and took off through the forest, abandoning their shelter.

            The brightly colored pieces of candy lay abandoned on the forest floor.

            “Gabriel!” Castiel called out, but he knew his brother well enough to know that Gabriel wouldn’t do anything like this without a good enough reason. “They’re coming, Cassie, they’re coming, come on!” Gabriel yanked on his wrist again, harder, and Castiel was so afraid that he didn’t register the brief pain. Gabriel just wanted him to get away.

            He could hear them, now. The hunters.

            There was a selected group of humans, the lowest of the low in Gabriel and Castiel’s opinions, which hunted down mutants. They captured them, most often children or teenagers. No one was really sure what the hunters did with the mutants they captured, but no one really wanted to know. Whatever they did… No one, not a single mutant, _ever_ came back. The hunters were a signature on a death certificate. If they got caught, they were dead.

            Or worse.

            Castiel ran along the forest floor, his bare feet ghosting or twigs, leaves, and grass. The hunters were getting closer. He could hear them shouting and calling.  He could hear the dogs bursting. The hunters’ dogs thirsted for blood. You did not want one of those on your bad side. “Gabriel!” Castiel shouted again. They were coming upon a large fallen tree, and Castiel knew what was beyond that tree. Beyond the fallen tree, the trees grew sparser and sparser until they finally opened up to a gorge with a river at the bottom. There was no way around the gorge for miles. No way except up.

            “The gorge!” Castiel shouted desperately. Tears were starting to prick at his eyes. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want Gabriel to die either. Gabriel kept running and shook his head. He slowed down a miniscule amount just for a second. Just long enough to scoop Castiel up into his arms. “Do you trust me?” he shouted over the noise of the frantic hunt behind them. It almost sounded as if they had a car with them as well. In the forest!

             Castiel couldn’t speak for a moment. He couldn’t breathe. “Castiel!” Gabriel demanded. “Do you trust me?”

            “Yes!” the younger mutant finally whimpered. Of course he did. Gabriel was the only person he’d always known. He loved him. He trusted him. “Then you have to do exactly what I say exactly when I say it. Got it, Cas?” Castiel swallowed and nodded, his big blue eyes wide. Gabriel boosted the younger boy over the edge of the fallen tree that marked the edge of the actual forest. Castiel fumbled, flapping his wings desperately. He collided with the ground but was on his feet in seconds, albeit with bruises and a split lip. Gabriel, on the other hand, had climbed to the top of the log and leapt off, spreading his wings. The older mutant dipped, his toes brushing the ground, but pulled himself back into the air. He flapped his wings a few times and grabbed the collar of Castiel’s trenchcoat with one hand

            The boy squawked painfully for just a moment before stumbling along. Gabriel was flying above him and trying to pull his younger brother along into the air. But the 14-year-old couldn’t fly holding his younger brother.

            The hunters were getting closer. Gabriel could practically feel the hot breath of the dogs and the men alike on the back of his neck. He fumbled, dipping again when a branch smacked him in the face. He released Castiel’s coat and the younger boy stumbled along. “Gabriel!” he shouted, fearfully. “Gabriel, Gabriel, the gorge! The gorge!” Gabriel swallowed and shook his head, folding in his wings and dropping to the ground and taking off again. “I know, Cas! I know! Come on, I’ll fix it! I’ll take care of you! I promise!”

            _“I’ll take care of you,” 6-year-old said, holding the bundled-up baby in his arms. He whispered it into the baby’s ear, brushing the fingers of his left hand against the bright white feathers. “I’ll take care of you. Pinky promise.”_

_“I’ll take care of you,” the 9-year-old said, helping the 2 year old to stumble along, his wings stretched out behind him. “Come on, Cassie. It’ll be okay. You can do it. I’ll take care of you. Promise!”_

_“I’ll take care of you,” the 12-year-old said, huddled behind a dumpster with the 6-year-old, his white fluffy wings pressed to his back, the large set of brown wings encircling them both, rain pouring from the sky. “It’s okay, Cas. I’ll get us somewhere safe. It’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you. Promise.”_

Castiel let out a whimpering moan, staggering along. Gabriel slowed just enough to puh his brother forward. The trees were getting sparser and sparser, and Gabriel could smell the clean air. But he couldn’t relish in it, not today. Today he had a job to do.

            “You remember what you promised, Cas?” Gabriel shouted. “You remember? You said you’d do everything I asked you to?” Castiel nodded, swallowing and whimpering again. He just wanted to go home. He’d never actually been home, he thought, but he imagined it’d be with Gabriel somewhere safe.

            Castiel skittered to a halt, his bare feet kicking sticks and dust over the edge of the gorge, sucking in breaths, hyperventilating. Gabriel crouched down to be at his brother’s level. “I’m going to ask you to do something,” he said, taking the time that could mean his life to console his brother who was wracked with hiccupping sobs. “I’m going to ask you to do something, and it’s going to be very scary, but you’re going to have to do it for me. You trust me, don’t you Cassie?” Gabriel leaned forward and wiped away his brother’s tears with his thumbs. Castiel nodded, swallowing. “Trust you,” he said, hiccupping again. “I trust you.”

            Gabriel nodded. “Good. Okay, we have to be fast. I love you, Cassie. Okay? I love you, I love you. Please remember that. Do that for me. Remember that I love you, Cassie.” Castiel swallowed again, frowning. “Okay,” he said, his voice cracking in the middle. “Okay. Okay. I will. But G-” Gabriel cut him off. “Do exactly as I say, Castiel,” he said, and suddenly, he was very serious. But he didn’t look scared. He looked determined. Strong.

            He glanced behind him, waiting. He tilted his brother’s head down slightly so he wasn’t looking behind him, but at his big brother. “I love you,” he told Castiel as the barking of the dogs and the shouting of the hunters drew closer. “I love you,” he repeated again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

            Suddenly, it dawned on the younger mutant.

            Gabriel wasn’t planning on making it out of the confrontation.

            “No,” he said suddenly. “No, no, no, Gabriel, you promised! You promised you’d never leave me!” Gabriel smiled sadly and leaned up to press a kiss to Castiel’s forehead. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “Because I didn’t want to lie to you. I’ve never lied to you. I told you I’d take care of you. Keep you safe.”

            “No!” Castiel raised his voice again. “No, Gabriel, you can’t! You can’t leave me.” Gabriel smiled wryly again. “I don’t want to,” he told Cas, “but I’ve been planning this. I knew they’d come. And this is the only way to keep you safer.” Castiel shook his head vigorously, but Gabriel continued. “Don’t look back, okay? Don’t look back. Don’t look back and don’t look for me. There’s this woman I’ve heard about-” Castiel unintentionally cut him off, sniffling and sobbing. “No, no. Cassie, listen. Listen to me. You have to be brave. You have to be so, so brave. And I believe in you. I know you can do it. There’s a woman named Mary Winchester in Lawrence, Kansas. You have to find her. You have to find her, because she can help you. Her, or a man named Bobby Singer in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Can you do that for me?” he said.

            Castiel swallowed again, whimpering. “Yes,” he said finally. “But, G-” Gabriel didn’t let him finish. “I love you,” he told his little brother. I love you.” He straightened up as the hunters bursting out of the trees behind them, blocking Castiel from their view. “I love you,” he told Castiel again.

            Gabriel took a deep breath and wrapped his hands around his brother’s waist. With all the strength he possessed, he hurled Castiel up and over the edge of the gorge. “Jump!” he shouted. “Fly! Fly, Cassie, fly!”

            Castiel beat his snow white wings that he hadn’t learned how to use properly yet, dipping and fumbling in the sky – Gabriel had said they weren’t developed enough to use – and stumbled into the bright blue expanse of the sky, Gabriel’s words echoing in his mind. _I love you._

            With the silver duct tape brushing against his wrist, he tried not to look back. He flew because Gabriel told him too.

**_4\. Kevin Tran_ **

**_December, 2011_ **

            The theme from _Swan Lake_ glided from the strings of Kevin Tran’s cello, the notes rising and dissolving into the air. Delicately, he dragged the bow along the strings, pulling the music out like pulling taffy. The music hummed beneath his fingers, and he really felt alive for the first time in a long time.

            To say his life had been hectic lately was the understatement of the year. He was applying to universities all over the country and a few outside of it, as he was attending college next year at 16. The teen was all set to graduate that May and be on his way as a sophomore in college, thanks to taking a few college courses during high school.

The only problem was the money. He was working alongside his mother to try and scrounge up enough money. Between his cello lessons, his studies, and various jobs he picked up, he didn’t have time for much else. Thursdays were just about the only day of the week he got a few seconds to just be himself. He often spent his Thursdays studying. He also tended to bring out the cello and play through a tune. Playing brought him peace.

            _“Kevin!”_ His mother’s voice sliced through his calm melody, and he slowed his bow to a halt. “Kevin, get down here.” He sighed slightly and took a deep breath before shouting, “I’m coming, Mom!” He lowered his bow and his cello gently to the ground. He flipped open his cello case and began packing it up. Right before he snapped the latches snuggly shut on the case, Kevin paused. He chewed on his lip and ran his fingers gently down the length of the wood. The cello was the most expensive thing he owned by far and he cherished it. The instrument was his closest companion. “Thank you,” he told it as he latched the case closed. He turned to the stand and neatly replaced all of his sheet music inside his folder before replacing it all neatly beside his desk.

            “Kevin!” his mother shouted again. “Hurry!”

            “I’m coming, Mom!” he yelled back again. “Give me a second!” Kevin shouted back, slightly irritably. He strode purposefully out of his room but faltered, stopping in the doorway. He turned back, taking in the cello case on the bed. He got a strange sinking feeling in his stomach. He felt so strange. He felt like… Like something was wrong. No, like something was going to be wrong. Something bad was going to happen and there was nothing to do about it.

            Fate.

            He sighed softly again and turned, leaving his room and closing the door. He traipsed down the stairs, taking every step carefully. He stuck his head in the kitchen, expecting to see his mother puttering about finishing their supper or perhaps decorating. His 16th birthday was tomorrow, even though he wasn’t expecting anything by way of presents. He knew how tight money was.

            Kevin didn’t find either of those things.

            What he did find was his mother, her right hand holding the edge of the table and her left clutching the phone, both of the objects held tight in a white-knuckled grip. His mom looked… Scared. No, scratch that. His mom looked terrified.

            Kevin took a step back. “Mom?” he said softly, furrowing his brow. “Mom, what’s wrong? Has something happened?” She swallowed and released the table and the phone, letting it drop with a dull clunk onto the wood. “Kevin, baby,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Kevin shook his head. “No, Mom. It’s okay. What are you sorry about?”

            His mother returned the gesture in kind. “You have to go,” she said. “We have to go, right now.” Kevin hesitated, frowning. “Mom, go where?” he asked. “What happened?” Her eyes were wide. “They found you,” she said. “They found us. We need to get out of here.”

            “I don’t understand,” he said, blinking quickly. He took a few steps forward, putting his hands on his mother’s shoulders. “Mom,” he said. “I don’t understand. What’s going on? Who found us? Why are people looking for us, anyway?” Linda Tran pulled away from her son’s hands. “Go upstairs,” she said. “Go upstairs and back a bag, quickly. Nothing too big. And hurry, please. We have to get out of here.”

            Almost as soon as he had entered the kitchen, the teenager – not even 16 yet – turned and went right back up the stairs. However, he was moving quicker than he had before, and his heartbeat was fluttering against his chest, beating with questions. He stumbled around his room, shoving as much clothing as he could fit into a small duffel bag he often used for overnight concerts. Almost as an afterthought, he shoved his folder containing his sheet music into it before swinging it over his shoulder. Kevin shoved a pair of sneakers on his feet and made his way downstairs again.

            He didn’t look back.

            “Mom?” he called out when he crept back into the kitchen. The lights were all out. He got that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach again, just like a few minutes ago up in his room. “Mom? Mom, where are you? What’s going on? Where are we going?”

            “I’ll explain in the car, Kevin.” His mom’s voice came from behind him, and the young teenager flinched. “Jesus, Mom,” he muttered. “You scared me… What’s going on?” he repeated insistently. “Please, Mom, you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?” he repeated.

            Linda shook her head. “Kevin,” she said. “Please. Just… Just get in the car. I’ll explain on the way.” She grabbed his hand and started to pull him towards the door. He yanked his hand out of his mother’s grip. “No!” he said forcefully, taking a step back. “No,” he repeated. “Tell me what the _hell_ is going on and where we’re going.”

            The mother chewed her lip and sighed. “Fine. Alright, Kevin. What do you remember about your father?” Kevin rubbed the face of the watch on his wrist. He’d always had the watch. It belonged to his father, he’d been told.

            A flash of gold. A ring of cigarette smoke. A smile.

            _“Daddy! Daddy! Do the circles, Daddy! Do the smoke circles!”_

            “Not much,” he said. “Just… Cigarette smoke. His watch.” He kept the last memory to himself. Linda took a deep breath again. “You know the pills I have you take?” Kevin furrowed his brow. “You said those were for…” He tapered off. “What were they really for?”

            “Your father. He was a mutant.” Kevin furrowed his brow, his eyes almost completely shut. “Dad was…” He opened his eyes again. “Dad was a mutant?” She nodded. “He was. He invented the pills you take, among other things. The pills, they… They suppress the gene in your DNA that causes your abilities.”

            Kevin shook his head. “I’m not a mutant,” he said. Not that he had a problem with people who were mutants. He wouldn’t even mind if he was. But he thought he’d know if he were one. “I would know,” he said, shaking his head. “I would know if I were a mutant. Mom… Are you okay? Do you need to go to the doctor or s-” Linda cut him off again. “Kevin, you need to listen to me. Think. Remember, when you were a little boy. When you were young. When your father was still around. That was when your abilities manifested. Please, Kevin, I’m not lying. Remember.”

            Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, scrubbing his face with his hands. If he thought, if he really, really tried…

            _“Daddy! Daddy!” Kevin giggled happily, bouncing up and down on his father’s knee. “Do the circles, Daddy, do the smoke circles!” His father chuckled and lifted the cigarette to his lips. He took a deep puff of it and then blew out, the smoke forming delicate rings in the air above the toddler. Kevin happily swatted the air above him, dissipating the circles._

_“Again! Again!” he cried, delighted. His father smiled. “Kevin, dear, why don’t you show me your trick? Then I’ll do the circles. And I’ve even got new magic trick to show you…” Kevin nodded. “I can do it!” he declared. He clambered off of his father’s knee, his two feet firmly on the ground. “I can do the trick, Daddy!” Kevin lifted his hand up and a strand of white silk shot from his wrist and stuck to the top of the wall across the room._

_The boy lifted his feet off of the ground and let the momentum of the strand of silk carry him, swinging through the air until he came to rest, swinging, with his feet above the ground. He lifted up his other hand and shot under strand of silk across the room. He followed it, flying across the room doing a slightly complicating looking flip. He seemingly severed the strand with his mind and landed in his father’s lap._

_“I did the trick!” he said. “Did I do the trick good?”_

_“Well,” his father corrected. “And you did. You did it very well. Alright, now it’s my turn…” He removed the cigarette from between his lips and snuffed it out with the side of the chair. Dangling it between his fingers, away from his mouth, the cigarette lit itself._

Kevin shook his head again. “I… I dreamt about that sometimes. Dad and I were in the living room of… Of some house together. He told me to do my trick and it…” He looked at his wrists and studied them, as if hoping to find something there. “And then I… Like a spider. Spider webs came out of my wrists. And then hit lit a cigarette with nothing.”

            Linda nodded. “The pills were supposed to suppress your abilities. Keep you safe. He seemed to think you were… You were important to his plan, his organization Kevin. You were important to mutantkind, somehow. And you weren’t even supposed to exist.”

            Kevin frowned harder. He’d been perfecting _Swan Lake_ on the cello just 10 minutes ago! “What do you mean I wasn’t supposed to exist? What do you mean I was important to his plan?” Linda stiffened. “I’ve said too much,” she said. “We need to get going. I _will_ tell you more, I promise. But Kevin, you can’t take the medicine anymore. You need to be able to protect yourself.”

            Kevin took a deep breath and let it out, and he could almost feel his father’s smoke rings passing from his lips and floating into the air like notes from his cello.

            “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go,” he added finally. “But where are we going?”

            “We’re going to find a man named Robert Singer. He can help you learn,” Linda said, ushering her son towards the back door and the car. “He can help keep you safe.”

            He was about to open his mouth and ask another question when an explosion rocked the house. Everything erupted into flames and as he was thrown backwards into the wall, he saw the smoke, and he thought about his father before everything went black.

            Kevin blinked, the world coming back into focus. His house was on fire. His house was on fire… His mom would be upset, she liked this house… His mom… His mom! He sat bolt upright, his groggy thoughts becoming frantic. “Mom!” he shouted, stumbling through the rubble of his living room. Somehow, his duffel was still on his back. “Mom! Mom!” he began sifting through with his hands, tossing bits of debris aside searching for his mother. “Mom! Mom, come on! We have to go!”

            He spun around when he heard a voice speak to him. “I’m sorry about your mother, Kevin.” Kevin almost bit through his tongue. “Don’t use my name,” he snapped. “Don’t you dare use my name. Where is she? What have you done with my mother?” The man smiled wryly. He was wearing a suit and tie, and was actually rather short. His voice held some fancy accent that Kevin couldn’t bother placing. “She’s somewhere,” he said. “She’s somewhere… Safe.”

            For some reason, Kevin just couldn’t quite believe that one. “Sure,” he said. “Safe. Where is she?” The man with the accent shrugged. “She’s somewhere that isn’t here, Mr. Tran. Now, please. You may want to get out of here. My… Boss would like to come collect you personally so he’d rather you go on ahead and get out of here before someone else comes to get you, like those hunters. Or that meddling Singer… Run along, Mr. Tran.”

            “I’ll find her,” Kevin promised the man with the accent. “I’ll find my mom someday. And I’ll find you, and hell, I’ll find my dad.” The man with the accent chuckled. “Oh, I suppose you’ll find him some day. Or he’ll find you.” He waved, wiggling his fingers. “Now, go. Onward, Mr. Tran. We will meet again.”

            Kevin stumbled forward and lifted his wrist.

            _“I suppose you’ll find him some day.”_

The man with the accent’s words echoed in Kevin’s ears as he slid a pack of cigarettes and a $10 bill across the counter. The kid working at the gas station didn’t look like he cared enough to ask Kevin for an ID. After all, it was Christmas Eve.

            Kevin was 16 years old now, alone in a convenience store and buying cigarettes for his own Christmas gift.

            He declined the receipt but took the change and the cigarettes, heading back outside into the chill. He rounded the small, square building, and hunkered down behind it. He fumbled, pulling a folder of music out of his ever-present duffel and a small red lighter out of his pocket. He pried one of the cigarettes out of the package and stuck in it his mouth. He flicked the end of the lighter and set the end of the cigarette up. Kevin released the trigger and stuffed the lighter back into his pocket.

            Flipping through the folder, he took a deep drag of the cigarette. He settled on _Swan Lake_ , bringing the sheet to the front and studying it for a moment. He removed the cigarette with two fingers and let out a puff of smoke. Kevin watched the smoke dissipated quickly into the cool night air. He sighed and took another drag of the cigarette before letting it out. This time, the ring was near perfect.

            The rings made him feel closer to his father and the music… The music made it feel like his mother was sitting right next to him.

            A taller man in a suit stood outside of the burnt shell of the house. One of his associates, a smaller man with a British accent, had made sure his son escaped safely. He hadn’t been able to have the Winchester boy, but his boy? Kevin Tran was something. There was something written in the stars about Kevin Tran, too.

            The man sighed deeply and lifted an unlit cigarette. He dangled it between his lips and blinked.

            The end of the cigarette flickered to life and the man breathed out a ring of smoke,

**_5\. Robert Singer_ **

**_Unknown Date_ **

            Robert – more widely known as Bobby – Singer took a deep breath. He lowered his fingers from his temple and lowered them to rest on the handle of his wheelchair. All these folks out there, all these kids that needed helping…

            He had a lot of work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> I can tell you now, because you made it to the end of the fic, something that you eagle-eyed X-Files fans may have caught. Yes, Azazel/Mr. Tran is partially based off of the Cigarette Smoking Man from the X-Files. Cookies if you got the reference!


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